Crossroads
by Intangibly Yours
Summary: Vampire AU. (1) They meet three times. The third time, he makes a choice. (2) Set between meetings 2 and 3. What starts like a fairy tale, ends like a tragedy. Because he was destined for eternity, and she was not. [Zervis] Now rated M!
1. Crossroads

**Crossroads**

 **Disclaimer:** Hiro Mashima owns Fairy Tail; I do not. Just borrowing some characters!

* * *

He first meets her when she is thirteen, small and vulnerable.

She stumbles into the forest clearing just as he finishes feeding. His prey is a young, traveling woman, whose auburn hair pools at his feet as he drops her unceremoniously to the ground. The girl gasps at the sight and her eyes widen as she drinks him in: his pale skin bathes in the moonlight and his dark hair blends in with the shadows. She follows his tongue as he licks his lips clean of the bright red stain dripping down the side of his mouth. A breeze causes his black robes to billow at his feet and he notices how her hair mimics its movement. Her golden tresses whip in her face, but she never once takes her eyes off of him.

Her knees are scraped up, her light-pink dress in tatters, and she is panting in a way that he suspects she's been running for miles through the forest. Her feet are bare as her toes dig into the dirt underneath. She looks terrorized but not at him. One hand grips the top of her dress to her chest, seemingly to keep herself covered. Not that she has much to show, he notes. She is thin, but not starved, and her features are torn between being child-like and mature. She is neither beautiful nor ugly in this awkward stage of growth of hers, but he finds himself just as fascinated with her as she is with him.

Muffled voices and hasty footsteps come bustling through the trees. Startled, she scrambles towards him, much to his surprise.

"Please! Help me!" She grabs onto his robes and seeks refuge behind him. "They attacked my village and every- everyone- they-!" She is frantic and sinks further behind him as figures file into the clearing. He instantly spots the sharpened canines peeking out from under their lips.

"Hand over the girl, you filth. We saw her first," a man chuckles, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. The man is large and bearded and reeks of booze, and his clothes are soaked in fresh blood. Clasped in the man's hand is a white cloth that he identifies as the girl's. Disgust seeps through him; these are the kinds he loathes the most.

He scoffs, "Pardon me?" In an instant, he leaps forward, plunges his hand into the man's chest, and yanks out his heart. It crumbles in his hand as the man falls limply to the ground, dissipating into dust. "I am not the filthy one here," he smiles, his eyes gleaming a deep red and his own canines bared. The followers take a collective step back.

"W-Wait, I think that's Zer-" another man attempts to scream prior to having his vocal cords ripped out. The rest of the followers skitter away, but he catches up to each with ease, nails tearing through throats. Some try to attack him, but he sidesteps their attempts and puts a hole in their guts. Within seconds, bodies litter the forest ground, disintegrating one by one, and their newly ingested blood drench the soil. He brings his hand to his lips and licks the blood from his fingers.

"What a disgraceful bunch," he murmurs, spitting the blood back out.

"You were dancing."

He whirls around, nearly forgetting about the girl. She pushes herself off her hands and knees and makes a futile attempt at brushing the dirt from her dress. "Excuse me, _Oujo-chan_?"

"When you were," she swallows, " _fighting_ them, you looked like you were dancing."

He laughs bitterly, " _Oujo-chan_ , do you not know what I am?" His kind tends to exhibit ethereal features, he knows, but he has never heard of a mass slaughter being compared to anything remotely graceful. He briefly wonders if she has suffered some sort of brain injury. "I am no different from those who attacked you."

She nods, albeit hesitantly, at his question. "I'm not justifying anything you did!" Her fingers twiddle with one another and she averts her gaze from him. "But you saved me," she says meekly. She nearly jumps as he appears before her, kneeling down to reach her height. At this distance, he can smell the blood surging through her veins. It is sweet, almost calling out to him, and he struggles for the first time, since he was a newborn, to resist.

"Do not be mistaken, _Oujo-chan_ ," his fingers are cold as he tugs her chin to face him, "They were insulting me and I merely taught them a lesson. It has nothing to do with you."

"Mavis." He raises an eyebrow and she bites her lowers lip. "My name is Mavis."

There is something in the way she introduces herself that makes his stilled heart want to spring back to life. Perhaps it's her shyness or the way her cheeks are painted the same color as her dress. Or maybe it's the way her large eyes are filled with so much undeserved trust for him, an expression he never thought he'd see directed at him again. Whatever it is, it makes his tense shoulders relax. He has always had a soft spot for children though, he reasons, never wanting to make food out of them. Probably due to having a younger brother of his own.

"Mavis," he repeats, his lips twisting into a slight smirk, "It would be wise for you to not misread my actions. How do you know you are not next?"

Her eyes steels, and he notices for the first time that they are green. Not just any green, a dazzling emerald swirling with emotions. He sees the pain and losses she's endured and a resolve that she didn't have before. His expression softens.

"You won't hurt me." Again, his eyebrow quirks in response. "You're not like the vampires I've heard about. You're not ruthless. You're...nice."

He stands, barking in laughter, and wildly gestures to the scene behind him. "You call this _nice_? _Oujo-chan_ , your reasoning is outrageously flawed." His eyes shimmer maniacally before he narrows them at her. "I suggest you leave before you end up like them." He eyes the corpse of the woman he fed on earlier. "Or worse, her. I could use another snack." He flashes her his teeth for emphasis.

Instead of fleeing, she gently takes his hand into her own and shakes her head. "You're sad." She pulls at him as to lower him to her eye-level again. Her hands are half the size of his and he knows he has the strength to snap her in two, or better yet, sink his canines into her as he threatened, but he can't remember the last time someone has touched him so willingly, much less a human. "You're not a bad person, Vampire- _san_." He is motionless, stunned. How can this human child not be afraid of him? Adults, men and women alike, fear him. Other vampires fear him. Even Ankhseram, leader of his coven, thinks twice before getting on his bad side. But _this little girl_...

"Teach me how to fight," she says suddenly, and he simply blinks at her. Her grip on his hand tightens and her line of sight drifts to the smoke rippling through the sky from outside the forest. Where her village lies, he supposes. Magnolia, isn't it? "Please, teach me how to save my friends."

He is now the one staring at her with wide eyes. A part of him urges him to slice her throat and forget about this human, but another part of him, a larger part, tells him to relent. And so he does. He nods and she is ecstatic, her bright, green eyes glowing even amongst the darkness, and he admires her innocence.

He first meets her when she is thirteen, and he is enraptured.

* * *

The second time he meets her, she is twenty-three, strong and fierce.

Again, she is dressed in pink, but she is no longer awkward. It's dark and she is bundled up in a winter coat and long boots. A grey scarf is wrapped around her neck and a matching hat covers her ears. Even with all her clothes, he can see glimpses of her physical changes. She is taller, curvier, toned. Her chin and nose are more pointed, but her eyes remain the same sparkling emerald that he remembers. She is smiling at him and he is silently grateful that his kind doesn't need to breathe.

"Vampire- _san_!" she chirps. She runs towards him and throws her arms around him. Her scent immediately tackles his senses, the blood crave he had for her before now amplified a hundred times over. He puts his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but she stubbornly resists.

"Mavis!" he stutters, "Did you forget what I am!?" He fights the urge to bury his nose into her hair and skim his fingers over her neck. Her berry-like scent is almost as tantalizing as the pulse beating through her veins.

She pays no heed to his inner turmoil and holds him tighter. "Of course not! But it's been ten years and-" she looks up into his eyes, "-you don't look like you're hungry." He's slightly surprise that she can still recall the details of his lifestyle; he only divulged to her enough to keep her from being killed. She grabs his hand, not unlike how she did when she was younger, and drags him towards the village ahead. "Come with me! I'll show you my new home!"

He reluctantly enters her house when she invites him in. Her house is filled with weapons: stakes, bows and arrows, swords. While he knows he still has an edge over her, he isn't keen on being scratched or impaled with any of those objects. Repressing a shudder, he situates himself in the seat before the fireplace. A table is to his right and another chair next to that. She plops herself down in the chair and rubs her hands together to warm them up, having taken off her outerwear. The flames crackle before him, and he thinks she has made herself a nice, cozy home.

The entire place smells like her, and he consciously makes an effort to stop breathing. It isn't so much as difficult as it is uncomfortable, and he rather keep the temptations to a minimum if possible. He can already see through her thin, flowy blouse, the huge pink bow tied in the front the only thing keeping her chest from being modestly exposed. Her grey pants hug her shapely legs and runs down to her ankle. He envies her hands as they slide down her thighs and calves to unzip her boots…

It's her giggle, as she wriggles her toes free from her shoes, that breaks him out of his reverie, and he shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

She unnecessarily offers him tea and begins to fill him in on all that has occurred in the last ten years. She and her friends made a guild to flush out the vampires that had infiltrated her village. It is called "Fairy Tail," and consequently, she is known as the "Fairy Tactician" for assisting against various vampire raids across the country. He chuckles at her stories, mostly due to her flailing gestures and enthusiasm, but is proud of her accomplishments nevertheless. She is absolutely enchanting as she speaks, he notices, her voice melodic, blouse ruffling, hair bouncing. She is a living, breathing picture of what he can never have, and he doesn't intend to ever forget. He's so busy ingraining this moment into his head that he is unprepared when she asks about him.

"I'm sorry?" he looks at her unsurely. She blushes and looks away, a strand of her golden locks falling into her face in the process. His fingers itch to turn her face back to his and sweep the hair from her eyes.

"I asked about what you've been doing during these last ten year. I've...never seen you amongst the raids I fought in," she repeats quietly.

He tries not to wince at her curiosity. When she was thirteen and ever the more inquisitive, he promptly told her that she wasn't allowed to delve into his personal life if she wanted him to train her. However, looking at her now and assessing her ability to defend herself, he also recalls that she didn't take "no" for an answer very well. So he tells her he's been traveling the world, looking for his little brother, a half-ling who he had sent away to escape the wrath of Ankhseram. Ankhseram is not someone who appreciates unions formed between two different creatures, much less the byproduct of such relationships, he explains.

"Besides, you are aware that I do not participate in those lowly gatherings," he smirks, finishing up his quick tale, "or else you would be dead already, _Ojou-chan_." He sees her cheeks puff up at her old nickname, but quickly remedies that. "Does that mean you have been looking for me?"

If possible, she becomes even more flustered. He laughs at her expression, finding her oddly adorable. Her lips pucker into a pout, and his eyes linger on them a bit longer than he intends. "Well, I-I..." she starts, causing him to snap his attention back to her face. She still isn't looking at him, preferring to focus on the way her fingers twiddle with one another. He takes comfort in the familiar antic. "I never got your name."

He smiles at her nervousness. "It's Zeref."

Her large eyes all but pop out of her head. "Zeref!? _The_ Zeref? The one everyone, including vampires, call the 'Dark Wizard'?"

"Yes, the very one." His expression never wavers. "Now do you know why I never told you that before?"

"But- I- You-" she stutters, but then suddenly takes a sharp intake of breath. It takes him a moment to realize that he has leaned in so close to her that their noses almost touch. She bites her lower lip before continuing. "You're nothing like the rumors! I heard you tried to experiment with some kind of magic that has other vampires shaking like a leaf!"

"Ah, well, rumors are there for a reason," he says vaguely, knowing she wants a more specific affirmation that he isn't willing to give. "The less you know, the better, Mavis," he consoles, finally allowing himself to brush that strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Her looks of protest die as his fingers trace the contours of her jaw before resting on the table. Green eyes darken and cherry lips part. He can almost taste her as she breathes out.

He watches as her gaze flitter from the hand that just touched her to his face. As she is seemingly studying his features, he can see the conflicting emotions and, he imagines, scenarios running through her head. He wonders if he could maybe, possibly, draw her in and-

Suddenly, she stands, and instinctively, he follows. Her eyes are blazing with a fiery conviction that almost makes him want to take a step back. Before he can react though, she steps forward, reducing the gap between them. He makes the mistake of inhaling again.

"I never got to thank you back then. If it weren't for you, everyone in the village would have died. All my friends would have died. _I_ would have died," she takes a deep breath, "But you saved me, and in turn, I was able to save many more lives." He remains rooted to the floor, his senses jumbled, as she inches closer. She clutches the white toga draped across his body and pulls herself to her toes, eyes locked on his. "So, you know...Thank you," she whispers. Her lips brushes against his for a brief moment before she lowers back to her original height. Pink stains her cheeks but she doesn't look away. He knows he shouldn't get involved with her, not to this extent, but she is so close he can hear the blood pumping through her veins and see the pulse in her neck and smell the strawberry scent that lingers in her hair. He places his finger on her chin and lowers his head, pressing her tiny body against his as he kisses her.

The second time he meets her, she is twenty-three and he thinks he's in love.

* * *

The third time he meets her, she is twenty-four, beat and broken.

She resembles how he first met her all those years ago, and a little of himself when he was bitten. Lost and scared, unwilling to take lives. She is thin and starved, eyes sunken and clothes tattered. Her hair is in a frenzy, nails chipped, and feet shoeless. She is huddled against a tree when he finds her, no longer daring to be near humans.

He admires her immense will to not feed. He, too, had a time when he was stubborn, but being so was physically weakening and did not allow him to fight, and he had his brother to look after. So he fed only when he needed to, and took only the lives that wouldn't be missed. He had hoped that made him a little less of the monster most of his kind were.

Her body goes frigid and her eyes dilate as he approaches her, and he knows she's responding to the blood circulating through his veins. She is more aware of him than she is of anything or anyone else. After all, he's the one that made her how she is now.

All because he couldn't let go.

His fists clench at the thought, because if it weren't for Ankhseram attacking her and bringing her to the brink of death, he wouldn't have fed his blood to her as a last resort, and she wouldn't be what she is now.

A mere shadow of what she used to be.

She looks up at him with hollow eyes, her bright green orbs having dulled the moment she sank her teeth into human flesh.

"Mavis," he greets in resignation.

"Zeref," she whispers, voice raspy. He briefly wonders if it's due to the lack of use, or perhaps she never quite stopped screaming since that night.

He sits cross-legged before her and takes her soiled hands in his. She squeezes them immediately, shoulders shaking and tears streaming rapidly down her face. "I've killed so many people, Zeref!" she sobs as she leans into him. "Whenever I go anywhere near people, I crave the taste of blood and everything goes black, and when I wake up, there's blood everywhere! So I've stayed away. I haven't even been near civilization in half a year." She tilts her head up and gives him a desperate look. He finds that he can't meet her eyes. "I keep trying to kill myself but my body heals before I can cause any critical damage." She shows him her forearm, but he doesn't need to look to know they're flawless. "Other vampires won't go near me because they know you created me. That, and your divine protection." She cups his face so that he is forced to look at her. Her voice has softened, but she still pleads to him, "Zeref, I want to die."

He gently presses his forehead against her, his hair falling over his eyes. He wills his frantic train of thought to halt, because honestly, he'd be an idiot to think any other outcome is possible. His unsteady hands interlock his fingers with hers, thumbs tracing circles on her palms, and he inhales before giving her a small smile.

"I love you. I have been wandering Earthland for three hundred years, and I have never met anyone that lights up the night sky like you. I have never loved anyone as much as I do you." He leans down, placing a slow kiss on her lips, and pulls back just enough to see a slight glimmer within those emerald orbs he treasures so much. "And I will never miss anyone as much as I will you."

He squeezes her hands and she gives a faint squeeze back. She nods in understanding and wraps her arms around his neck, her own smile forming on her face. "I love you, Zeref. Thank you," she sighs breathlessly. She tugs him back in for a longer, deeper, more passionate kiss, and he savors it, recalling all the nights they spent together in the forest, under the stars, entangled in sheets. He revels in the way she is clinging on to him, as if their touching skin isn't close enough for her, her grip tightening with every passing second.

That is, until they become slack, and she falls backwards within his arms.

Her eyes are closed, and a small, knowing smile is gracing her lips. It sickens him to see that she looks more alive now than she did just moments before.

He stares at his right hand, gouged through her chest, her heart crushed within his palm. She does not bleed, but the color fades from her skin and her body begins to crack and crumble within his grasp. He does not move as her clothes fall into his hold, her form becomes dust, and the wind sweeps her away from him.

He doesn't know if it's been seconds, minutes, or hours, but his body finally caves in and he slams his fists to the ground. An anguish scream tears through his throat, and he doesn't bother to hide nor stop the tears pouring down his face as he rips apart any and every living thing that surrounds him. Never has he rejected the world he was born in as much as he does now.

The third and last time he met her, she was twenty-four and he swore to never love again.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 3644

 **A/N:** So…I haven't written fanfiction in 9 years, so I feel a bit rough around the edges, but hopefully still much better than I was back then. Please review and let me know what you think! Constructive criticisms are always welcomed! I tried to get all the grammatical errors but probably missed some.

 **About the story:** Just an AU of how Zervis met, paralleling the manga. I had originally wanted to put what actually happened between meetings 2 and 3, but felt that it would break the flow and pattern. Not to mention that I would have to bump the rating up to M because some citrusy moments are a must. ;) It could pretty much be its own chapter, so I may just do that at a later date. And maybe a Nalu thing connecting to this. Or Mavis being reincarnated? So cliché but I've never outgrown those prompts. ^.^

Thanks for reading!

-Intangibly Yours


	2. Axis

**Crossroads**

 **Disclaimer:** Still don't own FT or any of its characters.

 **WARNING:** The rating has been bumped up due to the content of this chapter. Nothing too graphic or extreme but there's some rough handling and sexual content.

* * *

He's not quite sure how he ends up where he is, but it seems surreal. Here, in the outskirts of Magnolia, with his back pressed against the snow and the cold seeping through his robes, he is more content than he can ever recall being in centuries.

Though it probably has much to do with the blonde lying next to him. Mavis has her limbs spread apart, arms flapping up and down and legs shuffling side to side. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is powdered white. He wonders if the coat and scarf she's bundled up in is really enough to keep her warm.

"I'm making a snow angel," she says when he turns his head to look at her curiously. He chuckles at her childlike tendency, completed with a grin like a kid with candy, but finds it endearing nevertheless.

Reaching out, he takes a strand of her hair in his hand. "But Mavis, my dear, you are far more beautiful than any angel." And he would know as a demon walking the earth.

She blushes but doesn't comment, her movements slowing to a halt. She stands, perhaps out of embarrassment, and points to the sky. "Look, Zeref! It's snowing again!"

Indeed it is. He sits up just in time to see a single snowflake drift into her cupped hands and she stares as it melts into her palms. Her expression momentarily goes somber, but just as quickly turns into delight. She flings her arms out and begins twirling around, her melodic laughter ringing in the air.

He's awestricken as he watches her. The flurries scatter around her and the moonlight on her hair creates a haloing effect. She stops mid-spin, catching his stare, another brilliant pink hue decorating her cheeks. His gaze remains transfixed, admiring her glow and parted lips, and fails to notice when she balls up a chunk of snow in her hands until it hits him square in the face.

Needless to say the snowball unveils a rather irritated dark wizard as it slides off his face. Mavis bursts into an unrestrained fit of giggles and gathers more snow in her hands, packing it tight before hurling another snowball at him. He easily avoids this attack with a tilt of his head, and dashes to her, a playful thrill running through him. She shrieks, still partially laughing, and bolts the other way. One corner of his lips tugs upward as he closes in on her, and when she attempts to leap away, he tackles her to the ground, veritably knocking the breath out of her. But that doesn't stop the laughter emitting from her lips even as she gasps for air.

Her cheeks are hot from adrenaline, chest heaving, and hair splays the ground. Green eyes twinkle with mirth and a gorgeous smile stretches across her face. She watches him through thick eyelashes, expression turning shy as she takes notice of their proximity. He can't help but find her absolutely and enchantingly breathtaking.

He thinks, as he dips his head to meet her lips, that saying he's content is an understatement. If the butterflies in his stomach are any indication, he would wager on the side of happiness.

* * *

Her friends are amusing, he concedes, and he's glad she's been in good hands during his ten year absence from her life. Precht is intelligent and charismatic, Yuriy is cool and aloof, and Warrod is kind and fatherly. All three seem to be rather fond of Mavis, and the first two appear to have sized him up when he walks into the guild with her.

Fairy Tail is throwing a ball in commemoration of its ten year anniversary. He is originally reluctant to attend, but Mavis insists he accompany her. As a result, his usual robes are now replaced with a black tux, slippers with dress shoes, and a crimson tie hangs around his neck. He feels, admittedly, slightly stuffy in this new attire, but one glimpse at her dress makes his discomposure worth it. It's a modest red gown with gold trimmings. There are ruffles at the end of her sleeves that drape gracefully over her hands, and similar ruffles shuffle at her feet when she walks. She's not showing much skin but her bodice hugs her waist tightly and her neckline accentuates the curvature of her collarbone, exposing creamy, soft flesh. That, and the way her jade eyes darken to a molten green when she gives him a once-over prior to departing makes any negative remark of his clothing die on his tongue.

It's difficult, at first, being around so many humans. If he's honest, it's still fairly uncomfortable even after the first couple of hours. Too many warm bodies, too many lively pulses. It makes him dizzy, and while the crave still isn't as strong as the one he has for Mavis, it leaves his throat parched (and he finds no humor in her quip of "perhaps the fruit punch is red enough for your liking"). He chooses to not breathe to ease his discomfort, but the act itself is rather discomforting. Mavis, on the other hand, is positively glowing as she prances around the guild, dragging him along, introducing him to everyone. He takes no personal interest, forgetting most names just as quickly as he hears them, except the comprehension that outside of her house, this is her home, her family. He understands but he can't empathize (or, more accurately, he won't), yet that doesn't stop him from accommodating her. He enjoys watching her thrive in the presence of others, and it quickly makes him realize that she is their beacon of light just as much as she is his. When she finally settles back into his embrace, slowly guiding him to the dance floor, he is at awe at how someone so magnificent has wound up in his arms.

He certainly isn't going to take it for granted.

As he waltzes with her to a song he is barely cognizant of, he holds her a little tighter, gazes at her a little longer. Her eyes glitter when she's happy, lips quirk before she makes a snarky remark, and cheeks dust a light rouge whenever she makes a slight misstep. He ingraining every part of her into his memory because she's becoming a constant in his life that he doesn't know what to do without.

He notices that she is strangely better at dancing in the confines of her home than she is now. When he voices his observation, she giggles, and he thinks he could spend the rest of eternity happy if the sound could haunt his dreams.

"I don't like wearing shoes," she confesses, lips pursing timidly. He looks at her, shocked, before bursting into laughter, gaining the attention of nearby couples. He quiets down when she swats at his shoulders, cheeks puffing and glowing a delicate pink.

"Sorry, sorry!" he playfully winces when she obstinately steps on his toes. "It is just, I thought-" he's having trouble stifling his chuckles and she's having trouble finding him funny, "When I met you, your feet were lacking shoes and I thought you had lost them while you were trying to escape. But it appears I was wrong." His shoulders remain shaking in mirth even as he half-heartedly attempts to apologize again.

She huffs, jerking her head away from him, lips puckered in a pout. He doesn't mind because she's still in his embrace, swaying to the music resounding in the large hall. When she peeks at him from the corner of her eyes, he gives her a brilliant smile, one that widens her eyes and causes her blush to deepen. But she's staring at him and he wonders if there's something on his face.

When he asks, she giggles again (ah, that sound), and it seems he's been forgiven. "No, but I've never seen you look so carefree." She looks at him endearingly and he only recognizes it because he knows the expression has been adorned on his face many times in regards to her. "It's beautiful."

He wants to tell her that it's her that lifts up his spirit, that she is the one that lightened the load from his shoulders, but he feels so uncharacteristically bashful at her admission that he, instead, opts to pulling her closer and burying his head in the space between her neck and shoulder. He breathes, and her familiar strawberry scent calms him as her arms wind around his torso. They must look silly, he muses, standing still in the midst of a twirling crowd.

But he doesn't mind and she doesn't appear to either. The heat from her cheeks spread to his and warms his body. He's abruptly more aware of how exposed her neckline is and he resists the urge to dip his head and shower her with kisses. Instead, he settles for a soft kiss at the juncture where he rests. Her tiny hands fist the back of his suit jacket, breath hitched in her throat at the way his seem to tease her skin.

"Zeref," she exhales, longing exuding from her tone. A pleasant heat curls from within him, and he's tempted to whisk her away.

"You guys are absolutely adorable!" a feminine voice suddenly exclaims, causing him and his partner to spring apart. Mavis is a flustered, sputtering mess as she tries to compose herself until recognition dawns on her face. He, conversely, is slightly distracted but is otherwise the epitome of poise, and looks questioningly at the incomer. The woman is a plain kind of pretty, he notes, with her light-colored hair pulled back in a headband. He, for one, doesn't recognize her, but that's no surprise since this is his first time, since he met Mavis, to interact with humans without the intent of making a meal out of them.

"Rita- _san_!" Mavis beams, her arms now wrapping carefully around the newcomer's abdomen. Her hands are unable to meet to fully encircle "Rita" due to a large mound bulging from under the loose dress the woman wears. Mavis turns back to him, tugging Rita to him. "Zeref, this is Rita- _san_ , Yuriy's wife." Surely enough, he spots Yuriy trudging not too far behind towards them.

He gives a respectful bow. "Nice to meet you, Rita- _san_ , and congratulations," he nods towards her stomach. "When are you due?"

Rita laughs delightfully, murmuring something behind her hand to Mavis that sounds distinctly like _how charming; good catch, Mavis_ , before responding to him, "The pleasure is mine, Zeref- _kun._ And this little one here," she points down, "is due in two months' time!"

"That is terribly exciting," he says, at the same time that Yuriy catches up and grunts, "Are you bothering Mavis's guest already?"

Rita smiles a little too innocently. "Of course not, dear." She hooks her arm around her husband's and gives him a pointed stare. "You're not trying to bother him either, right?" Yuriy huffs, the action strangely similar to Mavis's and he briefly speculates who rubbed off on who, and crosses his arms.

"Of course not," Yuriy mimics wryly.

But there's something in the way Yuriy spares him a glance, a calculating look that isn't so well hidden, that startles him.

 _He knows._

He doesn't know if Mavis told her friends or if skills allowed the fellow guild-founder to sense or deduce the truth. Regardless, it makes him tense, and it isn't until Yuriy gives him a friendly, but firm, clap on the shoulder does he relax.

"Take good care of her, Zeref. She can be quite the klutz sometimes."

He vaguely hears Mavis releasing an indignant grumble, Yuriy's yelp following when she jabs him in the side, and Rita snickering all the while, but it's the trust and acceptance in Yuriy's words that resonates in his ears.

It's musical, much like Mavis's laughter, and it, too, makes a home in his memories.

* * *

He hates when they argue. Because it's never about what to have for dinner or whose turn it is to clean the house. Nor is it ever about money or the possibility of another lover. It's about life and death. It's about whether she will die today or live long enough for old age to take her naturally. It's about what he is, because even though she loves _him_ , those feelings don't transfer to the rest of his kind. And vice versa. He is still a monster and she a human. Ankhseram would hunt her down without a moment's notice should he find out about her. Hence, their discussion now.

"Mavis, I told you never to follow me!"

"It was still daytime. I thought-"

"Thought _what_? That they could not still _slaughter_ you? Rip you apart and put you on a serving plate for Ankhserum to enjoy? Because that is exactly what we want, right? For him to _find_ you?"

"I'm not a child, Zeref. I can take care of myself. You taught me how."

What he wouldn't give to have those petty arguments with her, to give her that _normal_ relationship she deserves. To have a future with her. Sure, he's thought about changing her, but that thought left as quickly as it came. He wouldn't be able to take away the light that shines in her eyes, nor stop the heart that beats so rapidly every time she's near him. He wouldn't, by all definition, kill her. He couldn't turn her into the very thing she hunts.

"And it is precisely because I taught you that I know you do not stand a chance. Walking within the vicinity is a death wish on its own, Mavis."

"Stop belittling me. I'm a huntress. It's my job. I have experi-"

"Can you take on dozens of them at once? By yourself?"

Similarly, he wouldn't selfishly throw out ideas like having a family together, because he doesn't want to give life to a child that will be rejected by both his kind and humans alike. She would still die and he would live, and their child will forever float in the in-between. There is no place in this world for a half-ling. He sees the suffering his younger brother endures, moving from place to place just to have a chance to _exist_.

"I wouldn't be by myself. You would be there."

"And if I am not?"

And so, they'll never argue about kids, either. Not about how to raise them or even what their names will be. He'll never have a miniature Mavis run around, calling him "Papa," or a son he can share all his knowledge with. He'll never have that kind of home to come back to.

"I could still take them."

But he desires all that. With her. The growing old together and having a family together. Those just aren't in the cards for him; they haven't been for three hundred years. So all he wants to do is cherish her, savor the time they have together, because no matter what tomorrow brings, he will always outlive her.

"Mavis, there are some vampires that are stronger than I. Can you take me?"

He's lost a lot. His parents, his brother, his life. He doesn't know what he would do if he lost her too. Not now. It's been too short and he's been alone for so long. Is it really too much to ask for the next twenty or thirty years with her?

"Y-Yes."

He pushes her against the wall, arms caging her in. His body is pressed against hers to hold her steady as she makes futile efforts to free herself. He leans down and gives a languid lick across her throat, momentarily stilling her movements. He chuckles at the sight of the blood rushing to her face, "Are you sure, my dear?"

"Get off of me!" she struggles. He does not relent and instead, throws her onto her bed. She makes a startled sound as the bed squeaks under her weight, and then his as he crawls on. He's really not trying to be rough with her, and he's only using a fraction of his strength, but it seems that she has become so accustomed to his gentleness that she has forgotten what he's capable of. He wants to remind her that most of his kind are not like him.

His knee slides between her thighs and his hand slips under her skirt. She flinches at his cold touch, but her wide eyes tell him that she's having trouble discerning if he is serious or not. He answers her by flashing his fangs and ripping her blouse from her torso. She shrieks, kicking at him and shuffling to sit up. He merely grabs her ankle and drags her back down beneath him, her legs pinned and wrists caught in one hand. His free hand grazes her stomach and inches up her bare chest. For an instant, he sees fear reflect in her eyes.

It makes him feel hungry. Her blood is calling out to him, pumping so rapidly through her body, like a river after a downpour. Here, she lies before him, defenseless and ripe for the taking. She looks so innocent that he aches to ruin her. Aches to tear off her skirt and bury himself deep within her, using her body for his pleasure until she breaks. Then sink his teeth into her neck where her pulse is throbbing with every breath, and drink, drink until she becomes nothing but another lifeless doll in his arms.

"Z-Zeref, I understand. You can let up now." Her voice comes in such a soft whisper that he probably would have missed it had his senses not been heightened. He blinks, once, twice, before becoming fully cognizant of their position and his thoughts. Horror dawns on his face, and he quickly removes himself from her bed and hastens out the room.

He doesn't get far before he hears her footsteps catching up to him.

"I was just proving a point," he says before she can ask. He doesn't want to admit to her his moment of fragility.

"But your eyes - they don't lie. They were red."

He whips around to face her, frustration still digging into his bones. She has a comforter wrapped around her shoulders and it nearly swallows her. "This is not about me. It is about you needing to know that you are not invincible."

"I know." She steps closer, looking slightly guilty at her overconfidence but remains determined all the same. "And I also know it's about you. I knew but I chose to ignore it. You haven't eaten since you've been with me, have you?" He doesn't reply, but her eyes grow sad at his silent affirmation. She takes one of his hands into hers. "Come back."

"Mavis, I cannot do that." Guilt plagues him. How could he let himself come so close to being a monster? "I was pretending, but it was not all fake, and I-"

She offers him a kind smile. "I know," she repeats, "And I can help you fix it."

He's raising his eyebrow when realization strikes him. "Mavis, it is not your duty to help me, nor will I ever ask you to."

She squeezes his hand. "Do you trust me?" He nods, but is still weary of what she's suggesting. She simply giggles, "Then come with me."

And he does.

It's different this time with her. It's not the same gentle, loving embrace they usually share. It's desperate and rough, hands touching and pulling everywhere. He can barely tell his clothes apart from hers, nor does he care to as they all pile onto the floor. Her fingers bury into his hair as he kisses her everywhere: her lips, neck, breasts, stomach. She's moaning at his every touch and his mind is in a wild frenzy of everything that is her. Strawberry scent fills his nostrils and supple skin molds to his. He feels like fire, ready to engulf her. And she burns.

It's when her back arches into him and legs tighten around his torso that he pierces the skin of her neck with his canines. She gasps, caught in a limbo somewhere between pleasure and pain, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He feeds on her as she comes down from her high, tongue lapping up the searing claret oozing from her new puncture wounds. She whimpers, this time in definite pain, and he hates how canorous it sounds to his ear.

She tastes delicious, utterly and tantalizingly delicious. He feels the hunger from before rumbling through his body, the instinct of a monster threatening to take over. He can't recall the last time anyone's blood made his core tighten, seduced him to release his inner beast and devour them.

But she has never been just anyone, not since he laid eyes on her ten years ago. She is vibrant and fierce, and the contravening image of her submissiveness below him makes heat coil in the pit of his stomach, makes him almost lose his grip on reality as he relishes the warmth of her blood burning in the most vindictively addictive way down his throat and momentarily jumpstarting his worn heart. He hears the beast taunt, _Give in, give in_ , and he wants to, yearns to, take all of her so that no one else may even glimpse her sweetness.

But he doesn't, and it takes all his self-control (and then some) to calm his beating heart, temper his craving, and cease his consumption on her flesh.

He feels her grimace as he withdraws his teeth from her throat, small pants emitting from her lips and her hold on him loosening. When he pulls back, wearing her blood on his lips like some colored decoration, he sees a torn expression adorned on her face.

"It's not the first time you've seen me like this, _Oujo-chan_ ," he says dauntingly. He means to be kinder, more soft-spoken, but her blood is still drumming in his veins and the monster inside of him is roaring to escape, its shackles strained and bordering breakage. It's taking every fiber of his being to keep from feasting on her again, and the droplets dripping agonizingly slow down her neck nearly do him in. Platelets rush to clot the holes, he notices in dismay, and he immediately loathes the disarray his priorities are in.

"But last time, it wasn't me, and last time, you let her die." Her eyes steel and he wonders if she's hating this part of him right now as much as he is. "Would you do the same to me?"

Her question makes him go frigid, the image of her lifeless body mauling at him. It does well in soothing the beast inside him, and he pushes the creature he dares not recognize back into its cage. For the first time that evening, the haze in his mind clears, and he can look at her without the edges of his vision being tainted red. She's guarded but doesn't renounce him, expression haughty and resilient, and it's stunning, so _her_ , and he knows he can spend centuries trying to perfect himself and he still wouldn't deserve everything she is.

He finds her hand and brings it to his lip, his expression finally softening as he shakes his head, "My dear Mavis, you are my Heaven and Earth, my savior. If you were to die, my soul would depart with you."

* * *

There's something wrong, terribly wrong, and his gut twists at the thought of what it could be. He had been at Hargeon, having heard rumors of a pink-haired monster, when the sinking feeling hit him. It makes the borrowed blood in him run cold and the last time he remembers feeling such a way was when he came home to a thrashed house sheltering his mother's corpse and the withered remains of his father.

And now, he's finally found a semblance of a home after three hundred years and he catches himself praying to a God he's never believed in that it doesn't get taken away from him. That _she_ doesn't get taken away from him.

His legs can't move fast enough.

 _Magnolia._ He needs to get back to Magnolia. After hitching a ride on a freight train for half the distance, he switched to a sprint due to growing impatience. It's not efficient, but it's faster, much faster. And he's so close now; only another twenty, no, ten minutes until he reaches the village. Reaches _her_.

He skids to a stop, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on their ends. The air becomes heavy, a bad omen bearing down on his shoulders, and he has difficulty breathing despite his lack of need for oxygen. A hooded figure appears before him, cloaked in the color of wine and asserting the presence of death.

"Ankhseram," he greets, hoping that his visitor misses the way his teeth grinds together. He can feel the grin forming from within the shadows of the hood, and that twist in his gut just wrenches tighter.

"You seem like you're in a rush, Zeref," his leader all but purrs, "Might I inquire why?"

He's struggling to sound courteous. "I have some business I forgot to attend to prior to my trip."

"Oh? Coming back all the way from the port for some _business_?" Long, narrow fingers reach into a pocket and extract a pink ribbon. "Though I suppose I would do the same if I had someone so… _delectable_ waiting for me."

His fists clench, blood boiling. He wills his twitching muscles to still, but he's frantic to continue on his way. "I do not differentiate between the bloods I feed on."

"That's not very nice of you to group her with everyone else," the response comes instantly. The ribbon disappears into the shadow of the hood, an exaggerated, drawn out sniff sounding, testing his patience. "Such soft, delicate skin, silky hair, pretty face." Fangs glisten in delight. "And when she _screamed_ , I could hardly control myself."

He lunges to the figure, but Ankhseram vanishes before he can make contact, though a malicious laughter continues to reverberate in air. "Let this be a lesson learned, Zeref!"

He wastes no more time before darting in the direction of Magnolia.

* * *

The whole village is a wreck. Flames flicker and dance on caved rooftops and broken beams, smoke stains walls and seeps through splintered doors. Hollow bodies litter the dusty ground, drained and left to decay. He feels dread sweep over him as he catches sight of Warrod and Precht unconscious (not dead, he exhales in relief) within the rubbles of the guild. Not too far from them lie Yuriy, slumped over a body – a woman it appears. They too, seem to be out cold, but there are muffled wails emanating from between them. A baby, it sounds like, and he hesitantly approaches them. Carefully, he lifts Yuriy's arm up to expose a small bundle wrapped in a blue fleece, crying in absolute terror. Realization dawns on him as he sees the tiny ruffle of blond hair peeking out from under the blanket. With a sharp intake of breath, he slides his gaze over to the woman, whose face he can barely recognize, but only because her skin is bleach white and a raw gash stretches from one cheek to the other. He knows she's Yuriy's wife, having met her at the guild party, and that makes his nails cut into his palms. He can only hear two distinct heartbeats, and she does not carry either of those.

His chest tightens as if Ankhseram himself is grappling at his heart. He further scans the area, seeking long, golden hair that should be cascading down the back of the girl whose smile is sunshine even in this still night. But there is no shining light and trepidation seizes his being, chaining his limbs and nearly dragging him to the ground.

How is it that she is _not_ at the guild during a raid that was most likely led by Ankhseram himself? Brutal, blood-thirsty, king of all monsters – she couldn't have possibly faced him _alone?_

He dashes to her house. He half hopes that they have taken her hostage because that would mean she is still alive. Used as bait, that may be, but very much alive. Almost anything is better than her fending for herself, by herself. She is strong, he knows, but Ankhseram is beyond ruthless.

His fears are confirmed as he approaches her home, or rather, what is left of it. It was definitely the target, burnt into a pile of ashes with mere embers paying tribute to what it once was, unlike all the other buildings that were lit as a byproduct of the primary objective.

She's laying there, among those ashes, limp and dirtied and beaten and bruised. He wants to tear his eyes away from the sight, but he drinks it in: her tattered clothes, mauled skin, twisted appendages. There is a particularly nasty wound on the side of her abdomen that has him second guessing the shallow breath she intakes with every slight rise of her chest. He feels sick, bile burning in his throat, and he releases a dry heave, insides clenching, scorching, retaliating. _He_ did this to her, but he's not sure if he's talking about Ankhseram or himself.

Stumbling to his knees, he scoops her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. He's startled when he feels her body twitch, a low, raw groan slipping through her lips. He feels hope playing with his heartstrings like a harp, but the melody is so fine-tuned that he doesn't bat it away.

"Zeref?" comes her strained whisper. He tries not to hurt her further as he hugs her to him.

"I am here, Mavis." There are tears brimming in his eye, salty and blearing his vision of her. His mind is racing, flipping through ways he could possibly save her, and he briefly wonders what the point of being great and powerful is if he can't even rescue a human girl.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, "I guess you were right after all."

He shakes his head, bringing his hand to rest on the side of her face. It's icy and pallid and he longs for the rosy glow that usually tints her cheeks and signifies her warmth. "No, I should have been here. I should have known better."

"Zeref, I-"

"Shhh," he places a finger on her lips, "It is alright, just rest."

She grabs his wrist and weakly tugs it away from her mouth. "You won't forget me...right?" He looks at her incredulously, trying not to inhale. The blood that used to smell so heavenly to him now wreaks of death.

"Mavis, you should not be trying to talk-" Her hold tightens around his wrist and she gives him a desperate look.

"I'm not just some fleeting snowflake that you forget about when it melts, right?" Her eyes flicker back and forth, searching his, "Because for you, it'll snow endlessly." And he remembers that day, mere months ago (oh, how it feels like ages now), when she held her hands out to catch that first flake as it fell from the sky.

His expression softens, and he gently pulls her closer to him. "Never," he whispers, his thumb brushing circles against her cheek. Each stroke smudges the dirt on her face, and he imagines that she would pout and scold him if she was in the state to. This makes his shoulders tremble, causing her to look up at him in concern (how she does it, he's not sure, considering _she is the one dying_ ). Somehow, he manages to force out a smile for her, and she responds with a grateful one of her own.

But her grip is falling slack and her heart rate is slowing, and he can feel the panic arising out of his chest. He's not ready for her to go, not ready to be alone again. When he had long forgotten what happiness was, she bounded straight to him, colliding into him with the innocence of a child and the heart of a saint. She took his hand and led him away from darkness, gave him a chance at the life he lost so long ago. How could he just let her slip away from him now?

There is one way to keep her alive, if one could call that state "living." They've never discussed it but he's always been against it. She had shined too bright to be brought to the other side. But now, despair rests in the pit of his stomach, exacerbating the desperation, clawing and gripping at any chance to keep her with him. She's slipping away from him and he has only this _one shot…_

So he sharpens his nails and slices a cut just deep enough into his forearm. Blood trickles out and he brings it to her lips, forcing her to drink. She's unconscious at that point, but as long as her body is fighting to stay alive, he has a chance.

He waits with bated breath, the pressure of his skin against hers harsher than he intends. His eyes are trained on her face, her arms, her stomach, frantically searching for any signs of her acceptance of his offering. _Work_ , he demands, begs, _work_.

And sure enough, in seconds, her skin turns feverish, and the scratches on her arms begins to heal and the bruises begin to fade. The laceration to the side of her body closes up, and he feels relief flooding through him like a broken dam.

 _"Zeref, did you choose to become a vampire?"_

 _"In a way, yes. I wanted to be able to protect my little brother."_

 _"Was it... scary?"_

 _"I can hardly recall it. You have to be teetering on the edge of life and death for the transformation to occur. When Ankbseram fed me his blood, I felt…I felt like I was on fire. I might have passed out because the next thing I knew, I woke up as this."_

Then, her eyes flutter open.

* * *

It's been one hundred and twenty-two days since he's last seen her. He feels cold despite the flames blazing in the fireplace before him, despite the fact that summer ended only a few weeks prior and the real chill has yet to settle in. He doesn't deny that it's because she's no longer next to him, but those dull, murky green eyes staring back at him in utter rejection makes him want to wipe her from his memories and forget her existence.

But he can't. Her screams still echo in his ears, plaguing his dreams and haunting his thoughts. It's worse because he doesn't blame her, his fault and guilt still burrowing into every tissue of his being.

 _"_ _I-I killed him…?"_

 _"_ _What did you make me do!?"_

 _"_ _I can't. I can't. I can't."_

She couldn't handle it. Being what he is. She couldn't take having someone's blood stain her lips. She couldn't stand the monster she turned into when her body craved human flesh.

So she tried to destroy herself, but she couldn't do that either. He doesn't make the same mistakes twice. When he turned her, he made use of his wizardry to cast a protection spell on her, one only he could break (because he couldn't risk losing her, not _again_ ). But the way she would throw herself off cliffs, only to reemerge physically flawless, yet so clearly broken beyond repair, almost made him want to end her suffering.

Almost.

She ran and he didn't follow. Couldn't she see that he had done it – done _everything_ – for her? She was dying and he saved her. He gave her another chance to live, an eternity to live! He-

 _"_ _I didn't choose this, Zeref."_

Such scornful eyes have burned into his brain, ingraining themselves in his memories, making him thrash in his sleep and occasionally when he's awake. That, in combination with her reverberating cries, nearly makes him think she's still with him. It's a bitter hallucination and he rather have that than none at all until he remembers that she doesn't want him anymore.

He aches and he takes that pain out on poor, unfortunate civilians that happen to cross paths with him. He can hear her in the back of his mind disapproving of his actions, but it's only when he feeds does the blood pulse louder than her voice, and he spoils himself with abundant meals.

But he's still cold and the body and blood of another does not satisfy him, does not come even remotely close. The only fulfillment he holds is splitting from Ankhseram and gathering ( _creating_ ) his own followers to stand behind him. However, it doesn't fill his void nor stop the haunting, not that he wants his visions of her to cease. But they are, indeed, taking a toll on him, taking him to the brink of insanity, or perhaps they are actually what keeps him sane; he can no longer differentiate.

His head is pounding in agony and he clutches it, hands fisting at his hair. He stands from the throne he's in and heaves it into the fireplace, watching it burn, burn, _burn_.

He's hearing her again and it wrenches at his very soul: _I want this to go away. I don't want to be this. Take it away._

He feels a bit hysterical as the smoldering embers remind him of her body buried in ashes, and he sweeps out of his study and into the autumn air.

It's another ninety days before he meets her again.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 6283

 **A/N:** You know, it's a good thing I already wrote the ending to this or else this would've turned out a little more twisted and not-so-loving. But wait, did Zeref just leave Makarov with his parents, while one is dead and the other unconscious? No wonder Makarov hates him. .

Please review and let me know what you think! This concludes "Crossroads." I was a Zervis fan when it was still a crack!ship, so I was _super_ excited when they became canon! There still aren't many fics on them and I wanted to show my support in some way. Hope I did an alright job!

Oh, and if you haven't already (there aren't many Zervis fics, so chances are, you have), check out " **Light Me Up** " by **Hera96**. It's a great chapter fic and I love how she portrays Zeref. Not to mention that the writing is absolutely _excellent_.

Signing off,

Intangibly Yours


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